It may sound stupid, but keeping a blog is hard work. Somewhere between growing discouraged by the internet and living in Paris and putting my editor hat on, between the internships and classes, the brutal, wounding relationships and shifting friendships, blogging stopped feeling like a release and more like a chore. At least in this space, I suppose. There were times when I avoided logging into WordPress altogether, because I would feel guilty watching our stat count fall in tandem with our sparse posting. I was blunt and short with people who’d ask when I’d write again, because it felt like a reminder of something I wasn’t doing, when in truth I was actually doing a whole hell of a lot. And when Josh stopped posting, the burden felt too much. I can’t be Jess AND Josh. The truth is that I’m not even that great at being Jess.

The other trouble is that, for me, I’ve always been less able to write the kind of gut-wrenching personal essays J&J favors when I’m happy. And well, right now, I actually am pretty fucking happy. I spent so much of my life being sad that when I get to a place where I feel even mildly content, I’ll do everything possible to reserve that space. It’s scary to think of going back to where it was dark, where I was dark, because there’s always the fear that I’ll somehow get stuck there again; as if happiness was a fleeting trick until I was successfully lured back to the empty place I’ve come to know all too well. Unfortunately, this also means that I’m less able to easily access that necessary part of myself that allows for the kind of piercing honesty cathartic blogging demands. I’m wary about getting back in touch with that part of myself, because for so long I relied on that place as a source of comfort, even though it was painful. My writing might suffer because of this, but at some point I have to learn to value happiness–my happiness–more than the things writing might carry.

I also think as I grow older I’m less willing to share so much about myself with people I barely know. For the past two years, it was absolutely necessary for me to work out most of my shit in a public space, because there was something genuine and appealing about identifying with other people who felt the same. I’ve begun to curl back into myself, but instead of fighting it, I’m learning to just go with it. Not everything needs to be overanalyzed. Not everyone is an enemy.

So how do you neatly pack away two and a half years of a life you have loved and built and shattered and shared, all in an arena packed with strangers? Well, I suppose with a post like this.

I’ll update soon with the address of my pretty new blog. You didn’t think you were getting rid of me that easily, did you?

It should be obvious by now that I’ve moved on from this little online home Jess and I built for ourselves over two years ago. (Whoa.)

I quote Jess, from that first post: “i kind of hate the idea of blogs. they’re so self-aggrandizing and pretentious.” It’s funny and strange to read those words so many months later, when blogs have only become a more essential communication medium—a medium that Jess and I used to talk about “stuff” as superficial as television or clothes and as emotionally forthright as, well, a lot of things. But as fun as it’s been, it’s also why I stopped posting here. For various reasons, I got tired of oversharing, and the comfort I once took in having an outlet for my thoughts and feelings eventually became a discomfort with the verbal proof of my past insecurities rendered permanent at this address. I don’t regret writing as catharsis; I do, however, regret publicizing some of that writing. But only some.

Anyway, I can’t speak for Jess, though the recent paucity of posts on this blog has come from both of us. And I don’t want to delete this blog; what’s out there is out there, and since I have no desire to run for public office or hold the sort of job that would make my output here a liability, I see no reason to get rid of it. I also want to reiterate that I don’t regret starting this blog and I certainly don’t regret publishing a majority of my posts on it. When it comes right down to it, I don’t feel the need to blog my feelings anymore, though it’s certainly possible I’ll start again sometime in the future.

If you were a fan of the weird/funny shit I posted here, you can always check out my Soup, which is really just an archive of shit I’ve enjoyed on the Internet. I guess it’s kind of like the stuff I wrote for Jess & Josh, only without the self-pitying diarrheic posts that have lost any poignancy I had formerly seen in them.

So that’s it! As Garrison says: be well, do good work, and keep in touch.

Sure, there was smut–who could forget the late-night, soap-esque Undressed, which was probably most middle schoolers’ introduction to softcore porn at the time. But there was also MTV News, My So-Called Life, and Daria. And of course, there was always The Real World, which quickly went from fascinating docudrama about the “real lives of seven strangers” to the kind of tequila-guzzling, STI-and-hatred spreading shitshow that we’re all used to today. The Real World had its sobering moments: when the cast of Chicago had to emotionally cope with 9/11 while cameras were filming them, when Ruthie from Real World: Hawaii ended up in rehab. But overall we watch it to laugh at the people on it, because they’re essentially human holograms, stereotypes no longer even carefully crafted by producers, because they’ve grown up with RW, and they know exactly which role they’re meant to play.

But DC is different! At least, after watching three episodes, I think that it is. Maybe it’s because this season takes place in the nation’s capitol, where everything is automatically politically drenched. But for the most part, the housemates all seem like genuinely informed, grounded human beings. Take Emily, for instance, my favorite character on the show. Raised in a fundamentalist cult, she rebelled in the traditional ways (Drinking! Lesbianism! Dating black guys!), but she is also so damned endearing and intelligent. One of the episodes centered almost entirely on women’s body image issues and Emily had some incredibly wise and downright feminist things to say about it! On the first night, the roommates debate religion. Mike, the Denver-born bi-sexual, takes to volunteering with the HRC in one of the first few episodes. Another cast member, Ashley is a self-proclaimed “Obama fanatic” who is intensely into politics. Andrew is a published cartoonist!

Since this is really the first season where I’m around the same age as the cast members, I feel relieved that they seem so down to earth. They’re  people I don’t necessarily mind having as the MTV spokespeople for my generation, particularly when you consider their predecessors. Sure, there’s the drinking, the silly fights–but overall, the cast seems genuine, smart, and interested in discussing the important issues plaguing today’s young people. They are sexually fluid, well-informed, open and accepting. Maybe my generation has just become so accustomed to reality TV that the cast no longer feels the need to “act out” in order to be interesting. Now, they’re just being themselves. And I, for one, think that’s much more interesting programming than watching another hot tub makeout scene.

2. I’m the new Editor-in-chief of NYU Local. You should join! I’m only slightly bossy (and probably less bossy than Lily Q!). We have some really cool shit planned for this year, including some small redesigns and a better ad model. We’re also adding new staff members to expand the circlejerk (like I said, join!).

3. Then & Now: East Village Edition (via Shloo)

(via Jake’s tweet about Nic Cage as Everyone)

Lede/throughline of most Gawker posts: Journalism is Dead

Would not journalism be a better industry (read: less dead) if the companies profiting from new media strategies/not being crippled by esoteric print-thinking made the grand gesture of offering to pay their interns?

The recent upswing in unpaid work is, in my mind, a contributing factor to the Journalism is Dead mantra. If Gawker used to pay its interns, and its profits have only risen as it gains national popularity and attention, shouldn’t it “take one for the team,” so to speak, and offer to pay its interns? I really think the only reason a company should ever offer unpaid positions is when it’s just not financially feasible for them to pay (though admittedly, that’s kind of a hard thing to gauge). But here’s the kicker: When you become an unpaid intern, there’s an unspoken contract between you and your employer that basically reads: “They’d Pay Me If They Could.” We don’t think the internship is unpaid because you don’t value our work (who else would do the photocopying?), but because the budget’s just too tight to afford our (cheap) labor. Unpaid interns trust this contract; they believe it to be true, and they take the job anyway because experience is something, even if experience and MONEY is something far better.

Is this the beginning of the end for that unspoken contract, or were all us unpaid interns just wrong to naively believe in the relative goodness of our employers? Probably the latter. Blech.